


The Old Man and the Tree

by taispeantas_laethuil



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Introspection, Light Angst, Old Farmhand Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taispeantas_laethuil/pseuds/taispeantas_laethuil
Summary: The Reader has a few choice words about Volfred's manner of addressing him. Volfred is finding that returning to the blackwagon is not like coming home. Tariq will take what he can get.





	The Old Man and the Tree

“What did you just call me?”

Volfred looked up from the packet of newly-received reports he was attempting to go through. The Reader stood there before him, arms crossed and scowling fiercely. “I don’t believe I’ve called you anything in particular, my boy.”

“Boy? Boy?” The Reader jabbed a finger in Volfred’s direction. 

“Yes? I tend to call most everyone who uses the masculine pronoun set boy, particularly if they don’t provide names.” Clearly considering the matter settled, Volfred turned back to his reports.

“I am a seventy-two year old man!” The Reader said.

“Making you roughly one quarter of my age, yes,” Volfred said, clearly becoming annoyed by the length of the conversation.

“Yeah, but you’re a Sap,” the Reader pointed out. “So that makes you what, _late middle aged_ ? I’m decrepit! My arthritis has arthritis!”

Volfred deliberately did not respond to this. 

“In terms of biology, I could be your daddy,” the Reader continued. 

It seemed to take Volfred a moment to decide that he had, in fact, heard that. “I beg your pardon.” He overly enunciated every word. 

“You heard me, _son_.” The Reader jabbed a finger at Volfred again. “I’m your daddy now.”

“That is _not_ how biology works,” Volfred said with a note of finality.

“Show your daddy some respect,” the Reader insisted. 

“If you expect me to address you as ‘daddy’ you’ve sorely miscalculated,” Volfred retorted.

Hedwyn had unfortunately been walking into the blackwagon’s living quarters at that moment, and had made just enough noise to be noticed. For a moment the three men regarded one another before Hedwyn nodded to himself, turned, and walked back out of the room, looking deeply uncomfortable. 

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and scared the kid,” the Reader said. 

“I’m fairly certain that the fault lies with you,” Volfred said, looking down at his reports with renewed determination.

“Now we both know that’s a lie, son.”

Volfred pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a fair bit of work to do before we reach the mountain, so if you wouldn’t mind? Perhaps we might take up this discussion later, say, in a decade or so.”

The Reader showed no sign of offense as he laughed. “Careful, son. The optimism will get you every time.”

He did leave though, whistling tunelessly. I waited until I heard him speaking with Hedwyn outside the blackwagon before I let out a chuckle. Ti’zo joined me with an uproarious laugh. 

Volfred turned to face us. “I suppose the two of you still stand by your endorsement?”

“He is a Reader of no small talent,” I point out. “And, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir, you did not make the best first impression upon these new Nightwings.”

“Believe me, I’m aware,” Volfred replied with a wince. “I must confess, Tariq, I simply didn’t anticipate that the Reader they found would be unable to participate in the Rites himself.”

He’d expected to fill that role himself, for all that his limitations were emotional, rather than physical. It was an oddly painful thing to see: some part of me still believed that victory would see him in the Commonwealth, helping to usher in its end with a minimum of bloodshed and rededicating Sahr to the ideals of the Scribes. 

But after that dream had died, there had been weeks when I had feared that he would die too; months, when I had feared that he had well and truly given up all hope; and years, when I had feared that our new Plan would never bear fruit. 

The circumstances were not what either of us would have wished for, but I don’t believe either of us would wish Volfred away from the blackwagon, now that he’s finally returned. 

<<Well, I like him,>> Ti’zo said. <<I think he’s funny.>>

“You would,” Volfred replied. “Ah, well. I suppose I’ll just have to make the best of it. I don’t suppose Hedwyn is as good a cook as he claims?” Volfred had done the bulk of the cooking, when he wore the raiments. He wasn’t all that bad at it.

<<He’s better than you, if that’s what you mean,>> Ti’zo informed him. 

“Now, my friend, you’re just being rude,” Volfred chided.

<<I’m only being honest,>> Ti’zo retorted. <<If you don’t believe me, have dinner with us tonight. You’ll see.>>

Volfred hesitated. “I do have work to do,” he said. “Perhaps some other time.”

<<It better be some other time before a decade has passed,>> Ti’zo insisted. 

Volfred laughed. It was an oddly bitter sound, which reminded me more of Sandra than of Volfred himself. “Yes, yes. I’ll try and find some way of smoothing things over with the Reader, since it seems we’ll be stuck together for the duration. I just hope he doesn’t expect to call me son the entire time.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, son,” the Reader said, Hedwyn trailing behind him back into the living quarters. “Now scoot over, the kid and I have tubers to pare.” Behind him, Hedwyn sheepishly lifted up a basket full of tubers.

For a moment, Volfred looked ready to argue in spite of his earlier proclamation. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he smiled with the practised ease of someone who had spent decades living a double life. “I stand corrected, my boy.”

“Ha!” the Reader said, leaning against the table. “Seriously, scoot over and take your paperwork with you, my arthritis-”

“-has arthritis, as you are a decrepit old man, yes, yes, I was paying attention,” Volfred said. He gathers his reports, and moves over to the other side of the table. “I hope half the table will be sufficient? I have quite a backlog, I’m afraid.”

“Eh, we’ll make do.” The Reader lowered himself down onto the bench with a grunt. “So, what are you working on there? I mean, that can’t all be reports about us.”

“None of it is,” Volfred said. “As I’m here, and can make my own observations. The Nightwings are, I’m afraid, not the only players in this game.”

“Which game is that?” Hedwyn asked. “You mentioned a Plan earlier, in the Waking Wood, but that was the first any of us had heard of it.”

Volfred hesitated again. This time, it was obvious to the Reader and Hedwyn. “The answer to that is best heard by everyone at once,” he said finally. “I’ll explain it to you all before we reach the summit.”

Hedwyn and the Reader nodded in acceptance, and within moments were engrossed in their own conversation, and Volfred in his paperwork. I began to play on my lute, a gentle melody meant to sooth all anxieties and let worries drift away. Volfred looked up briefly, and smiled at me: tight-lipped but genuine. He understood what I was doing. 

We had few days to go, before these new Nightwings would face their first Liberation Rite. And then, if the tests had worked and we had found the right people, the real struggle would begin. 

This was one of the few peaceful moments we would have- perhaps the last calm moment this particular group would ever have together, depending on who the Reader chose to anoint. It was a peace worth preserving for as long as it could last; it was a peace that could be built on, if only it could be believed in.

**Author's Note:**

> When I went to play through the game with a dude Reader, I realized around the time that I reached the first Liberation Rite that I had, essentially, been playing with Jolee Bindo as the Reader. This flowed very naturally out of that.


End file.
